Cat the First
yes that is a lot of star wars in the background
Four Years Later, I was born.
Some of my earliest memories are running down stairs first thing Saturday morning and throwing open the cellar door to let Patches up from the basement, where she had spent the night, and then rushing to beat her to the living room and tuck myself in under a blanket on the couch so I could call to her and she'd jump in my lap. Patches belonged to my brother, technically, and he fed her and cleaned her litter box, and took care of her, but at some undefined point in my childhood and her adolescence, it became fairly well acknowledged that Patches was my cat. And I was her person. The older we both got, the more steadfast our relationship grew. She would wait for me on the corner of our block when I walked home from school, and follow me back to the house. She would stealthily stow away to sleep on my bed, then hide under it until my parents had given up on retrieving her, wait for the house to go quiet, and sneak back out to curl up near my feet at night. She sat on my homework, sometimes even ate it, like every most excellent pet will, and was pretty much just awesome.
|I have other, better pictures of Patches SOMEWHERE|
but they appear to be MIA right now unfortunately.
When I was a junior in high school, Patches died. She was at least 19, if not 20, and had lived a very, very long life. Losing her broke my heart, all the same, of course. She was my best friend, my first friend, the most loyal cat of all cats, and during the last year and a half or so, I had kind of taken her for granted. Those regrets still weigh heavy, even all these years later.